The silvery bark of a trumpet sounded on the breeze as the wind whipped around the tents and banners of the fortified town of Elmstead. Nearly a week had passed since the army of the earls had joined forces with that of Robin Goodfellow, and Elmstead had since become a kind of warrior’s crossroads, a central depot through which a constant stream of military activity passed in and out. Having grown fourfold overnight, their sallies had expanded commensurately and likewise had increased in their effectiveness, for Hae-jin now had professional soldiers at his command. No longer did Hae-jin need to rely on the dubious talents and unreliable committal of the rebelling peasantry. By now nearly all of the actual fighting was being conducted by proper men at arms (both of the earl’s men and the yeomanry), while the serfs and villeins had become largely relegated to auxiliaries.

Marching up the road to Elmstead now was a column of troops, with Hae-jin riding in the lead. He and the Earl of Donnock were just now returning from having liberated the slave pens at Willowham, one of Gurth’s last remaining strongholds in the area. In the wake of the column there was a long line of disheveled but buoyant looking people, who until today had been fated to exportation and a subsequent lifetime of exile and bondage. Now they had an uncertain but far more optimistic future, and there was no small amount of laughter and singing as they trotted along behind the soldiers, with their former prison left behind and reduced to a pile of smouldering ashes. Hae-jin had insisted that the vacated slave pens be burned to the ground as a clear statement to the people that the reign of Gurth was coming to the end. This had been much to the annoyance of Wickhowe, who had desired that the slave pens be instead occupied and repurposed as a supply depot. However the earl had acceded readily enough to Hae-jin’s wishes, for indeed things had been going very well of late. Gurth’s men were in full retreat now, his marauding bands evaporating as they clung to a handful of diminishing strongholds.

Yet, the glimmering rays of success were tempered by shadows of the impending threat before them. Many of Gurths men had regrouped and were now massing at Gurth’s encampment near Larchester. Rumors were circulating which told of weird and alien creatures crossing the border into Linster and traveling across the countryside at night in small groups. Meanwhile, the King had at last arrived in Larchester, and his forces were now encamped there beside those of Gurth. On the previous day, royal heralds had come to the gates of Elmstead, bearing with them the King’s edict commanding the nobles either to disperse or else renounce their cause and join with him and hand over the person of Robin Goodfellow for judgement. The heralds had been promptly sent back to their sovereign bearing a categorical dismissal of the King’s command, and thus a confrontation was now inevitable and imminent. Reports indicated that the King’s forces were sizable, and that morning Hae-jin had dispatched the Bird to fly to Larchester to carry out a proper reconnaissance.

Through all of this, there was yet one factor which hitherto had remained in doubt: The Bishop of Larchester.

The Bishop was a powerful landowner in his own right, and likewise the forces at his command were commensurate to his status. Moreover, the city of Larcherster now lay directly between the army of Robin Goodfellow and the combined forces of Gurth and the King. With the spectre of battle now inexorable, the sway of the Bishop could well prove the deciding factor. Yet up to now, the Bishop had given no clear indication as to which side he would take. Since their arrival the earls had dispatched multiple envoys to the Bishop’s palace, but thus far these overtures had only been met with ambiguous responses. Yet equally, neither did it appear that the King or any of his followers had yet entered the city themselves. Perhaps the Bishop was stalling for time, waiting to see which way the tides of fortune fell. Or perhaps he was attempting to conceal a die which had already been cast.

Either way, Hae-jin needed more information, and quickly. The Bird was due back now, and should at this moment be awaiting Hae-jin’s own arrival. As the column passed into the gates Hae-jin succinctly issued his orders to their captains and then made his way to a particular pavilion in the tent city.

The Earls of Swinstoke and Wickhowe were already there, waiting outside. The moment Hae-jin appeared, Swinstoke became animated.

“There you are, Greyflower. That wretched Bird has refused to speak to us; he insisted we wait until you were here as well. Damn cheeky I call it.”

“Is the Bird inside then?”

“Aye, to be sure. He’s been there almost an hour, fidgeting.”

Hae-jin pulled aside the flap and stepped inside the tent, followed by the two earls. Inside, the Bird was perched on a table, looking about as dejected as Hae-jin had ever seen him. When he caught sight of Hae-jin, the Bird began flapping his wings agitatedly as he spoke.

“Terrible, terrible news, Hae-jin!”

“What news? Have you inspected the King’s encampment?”

“Yes, and Gurth’s too.”

“And what is your report?”

“The king has a lot of soldiers, Hae-jin. An awful lot. Five, maybe six thousand.”

Wickhowe drew a sharp breath.

“Surely not? The King doesn’t have that kind of support; he shouldn’t have been able to muster even half that many troops.”

Hae-jin cocked an eye at the Earl.

“Perhaps the remaining nobles are more loyal to the King than you had supposed.”

Swinstoke snorted. “That, or else the Bishop’s already joined forces with him.”

Hae-jin turned again to The Bird.

“What about Gurth’s encampment?”

“Worse still, Hae-jin. Hundreds of his men are there, and Hae-jin, there are Drixi there!”

Hae-jin felt a wave of shock hit him. Drixi? Hae-jin had thought he was through with those bedratted eye-ball clad humanoids. Apparently not.

“Drixi? What are Drixi doing here in Linster?”

“Helping Gurth, that’s what! With flying cavalry, no less. They’ve got a funny sort of corral-thingy setup in his camp holding two or three hundred of those winged lizard things they like to ride. And there are also Zard, Hae-jin. Hundreds and hundreds of Zard.”

Hae-jin felt a deadening sense inside. Gurth, the King, the Drixi, and the Zard, all encamped only a few short miles away, just waiting to destroy them all.

“How many all told then?”

The Bird squinted a bit.

“Between both camps? I reckon eight or nine thousand. Hae-jin, what are we going to do? We’re outnumbered almost two to one!”

Hae-jin turned to the two earls. There was a defiant gleam in Swinstoke’s eye even as he looked slightly more deflated than usual, while Wickhowe had already recovered his composure, and met Hae-jin’s eye.

“It is absolutely critical now that we persuade the Bishop of Larchester to take our side. Perhaps if the Bishop joins us, more will be inclined to forsake the king or even join our side.”

“Perhaps. But how do you propose that we convince him? Thus far our entreaties have born little fruit.

“I will compose a letter to the Bishop myself immediately, explaining to him again the merits of our cause and beg him for an audience in person. I am convinced that I can persuade the Bishop, if only I have an opportunity to talk to him myself.”

Suddenly the flap to the tent was pulled aside again, and the orange face of Alwog poked through.

“Aha! There you are, Hae-jin. We’ve got a problem. Joan wants to see you right away. And tell the Bird to come also. I want to talk to him myself about that ninety silver marks per day he now owes us.”

“Ninety-one!” came a voice from outside.

“Shutup!”

Taking his leave of the earls, Hae-jin followed the Wog out of the tent and made his way to the town proper.

Hae-jin already guessed for himself what the problem might be. Ever since the alliance with the nobles the serfs had demonstrated a complete disinterest in fighting, being quite content to leave all that up to someone else. This complacency might not in itself have been so bad a thing, were it not counterbalanced by the fact that there was also now no opportunity for pillaging, and the peasants were becoming content to simply demand whatever they desired or needed from the merchants and tavern keepers. What few duties were left to them they performed only grudgingly, and with much dithering. The reverse then happened whenever they were left idle, at which point the peasants were frequently unruly and rowdy and prone to heavy drinking. The yeomen and other freemen were far more manageable, but even they were at times inclined to falter and lose heart.

Through all this, Joan was proving to be the crucial link between Robin Goodfellow and his own army. She spent most of her days at a table outside the hall of Elmstead, hearing out the people’s grievances and entreating them to do the work which was asked of them. In this respect she was a consummate diplomat, and her long held position of respect among the people enabled her to maintain cordial relations with them. Indeed, among the common folk she was even beginning to usurp Hae-jin in popularity, as bit by bit Robin Goodfellow the champion of the people disappeared and Robin Greyflower the lackey of the nobility replaced him. Even so, it was still all Joan could do to contain the peasants, and the matter grew worse with each passing day.

Hae-jin approached the hall from a back street, knowing that if he came by way of the front entrance the long line of people there would immediately beset him with both their adulation and their increasingly capricious demands. As Hae-jin approached the rear door, he nearly ran into a harried looking Hugh Mortimer. The old miller had been serving as Joan’s adjutant, and by his appearance it seemed that it was a busy day as usual.

“Ah, Hae-jin. There you are. Joan’s looking for you.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Oh, the usual thing. The serfs, you know. Can’t ever keep ‘em happy.”

“Can you tell her that I’m here? If I go out front there will surely be a commotion.”

“Eh? Oh, well, I suppose you’re right. Hang on a moment.”

The old miller trudged sourly back into the building, grumbling to himself. Hae-jin stepped over the threshold likewise and followed Mortimer into the dim interior of the hall. Hae-jin waited while Mortimer fetched his erstwhile mistress, and a few moments later Joan entered the room and sped quickly to Hae-jin’s side, grasping both his hands in hers.

“Hae-jin, thank you for coming so quickly.”

“What is wrong?”

“It’s the tavern keepers again. They’re refusing to issue any more credit until they’ve been paid a portion of what is owed them.”

“But we only just increased the ale ration. Are the people still buying more drink?”

“Yes.”

Hae-jin sighed.

“Very well. Inform the merchants that Robin Goodfellow will cover their outstanding expenses, and that we’ll release the money to them tomorrow.

“But we can’t just keep paying for everything the people devour! We’ll run out of money.”

“I know. But it will have to do for now. We need to keep the people happy right now. Things will soon be changing and at that point it likely won’t matter how much money we’ve got.”

Briefly Hae-jin related his most recent intelligence from The Bird.

Joan wrung her hands.

“I’m worried, Hae-jin. I don’t like the Earl of Wickhowe. How can you be sure that we can trust him?”

“I’m afraid I cannot be sure of anything, Joan. But we will never succeed without the aid of the nobles. You see yourself how the peasants are. There was never a possibility that we would succeed with them alone.”

“That was your plan all along then? To join the nobles?”

“It has always been necessary. Whether it was the nobles, the clergy or the king himself, it was always going to be imperative for us to ally ourselves with the established powers at some point if we were ever to have any hope of succeeding.”

“And what about me, Hae-jin? Was I merely another necessity?”

There was a sort of pleading looking in Joan’s eye as she spoke, and Hae-jin felt taken aback. Her fear and dismay under their present circumstances Hae-jin readily understood, for he felt it no less himself. But there was something more to Joan’s anxiety, something which reflected a far more personal dimension to her emotions which Hae-jin hadn’t quite seen before. Or rather, Hae-jin hadn’t wanted to see it. He had already experienced one loss, the pain of which was still far too recent for him to dare yield to another attachment. But now, circumstances demanded otherwise. Before all else, Hae-jin was after all a soldier. In his relationship with Joan there had always been both a practical and a personal dimension, which in the end were perhaps to Hae-jin much the same thing. His sole devotion was to his duty and his personal attachments were simply a part of his duty, to the point that they became more or less inseparable in his mind. He now folded both Joan’s hands gently in his own and looked her in the eye.

“There is no one else whom I need now more than you, Joan. I could not have done any of this without you, and without you all of this would fall apart in an instant. There will never come a time in all this when I will not need you more than all others.”

Joan looked away, but there was a softening in her body language even as her hands tightened inside his.

Wickhowe’s letter to the Bishop was dispatched with several heralds early in the afternoon, and it was not until well after nightfall that they returned. The Bishop sent his acknowledgement of the earl’s letter, and pledged that after taking the matter under due consideration he would dispatch heralds himself on the morrow bearing his reply. The nobles were divided as to whether this should be construed as good news or bad, and for his own part Hae-jin could make no guess either way. For the moment there was simply nothing to be done but to continue to make preparations for the looming conflict, and pray that they might yet prevail upon the Bishop support their side.

The wind sliced through the streets of Elmstead as the evening waned into night, stirring up little whirlwinds of dead leaves and forlorn detritus in its wake. Along the gutters and slimy crevices, small terrible creatures lurked and skulked. Rats, roaches, and other sorts of vermin, foraging among the garbage as they kept wicked and wary eyes out for both predator and prey alike.

Hiding behind a pile of assorted rubbish at the end of an alley, Tom Oates was keeping an eye on the outer wall of the village, waiting. At this very moment there was a bit of hempen cord looped over one of the wooden timbers at a certain place on the palisade. It was so small as to likely go unnoticed by any casual inspection, but someone outside the wall who knew where to look would be able to affix a much stouter rope to one end of the cord, which could then be pulled through up around the palisade and back down to the ground so that it was secure enough for someone to climb it.

That bloody Fox thought he was clever, but he wasn’t clever enough. More than once now Tom had managed to give the filthy animal the slip, and having at last contacted his master Tom had received his instructions. Now everything was about to change, and soon, very soon, Tom would be able to take his revenge on the Fox. And Mortimer. And Joan. And everyone else he hated.

Tom was beginning to grow impatient. He was sure he had put the string at the correct location, and his allies shouldn’t have had much difficulty finding it. They should already have been over the wall by now.

Suddenly, Tom had the sense that someone was behind him. He whirled around to see four tall, robed figures towering silently behind him, with hoods pulled low over their faces.

Tom felt a thrill go through him as he looked up into the terrible visages beneath the hooded cowls of the beings before him. After a few murmured words he then led them out into the streets, passing discreetly through shadows and alleys towards a particular house within the village.

While elsewhere the rest of the village was largely asleep, Hae-jin was still awake. He and the Bird were engrossed at work in the main room of the house in which Hae-jin resided. Hae-jin sat on a stool before a large table which was set against one wall and was covered with scrolls and sheets of parchment. Beside him the Bird was perched on another stool, and the pair of them were reviewing lists and schedules under the light of two candles set on the table in tall holders, while a dying fire filled the rest of the room with a dim amber light. A point of contention had come up, and Hae-jin and the Bird were on the verge of an argument when suddenly Hae-jin raised his hand to his lips, and both fell silent.

Hae-jin listened for a moment. All was quiet now. But a moment ago, just at the limit of his senses, he had definitely heard a sound. Hae-jin turned around to look behind him.

On the other end of the room were four robed figures, their hoods cast back to reveal the scaly countenances of Zard. The last of them was just filing in through the door, and all of them carried short, curved blades in their hands.

Hae-jin leaped to his feet, seizing the stool he had been sitting on as he did so and holding it before him as a shield as he grabbed instinctively with his other hand for a sword which he wasn’t wearing. As this was happening Hae-jin saw one of the Zard raise a clenched fist which held what appeared to be a thin, brittle piece of clay moulded in the shape of a human ear, which the Zard then cast violently to the ground and the object flew apart with a crack like faraway thunder.

Suddenly, Hae-jin felt a deadening sensation, as if his ears were being bombarded by a loud noise which didn’t exist. He opened his mouth and shouted for help, but he could not hear his own voice, as if every sound was being drowned out by a deafening silence which filled the entire room.

The Zard lunged forward, dividing into two groups as three of them converged on Hae-jin while the fourth chased the Bird into a corner, who squawked and crowed inaudibly as he frantically tried to beat the Zard back with his wings in the freakish silence.

Hae-jin grabbed one of the heavy candlesticks from the table and threw it at the first Zard, who ducked just in time and began assailing the stool which Hae-jin was shielding himself with as he frantically drew his dagger. The Zard’s blade fell mutely into the wood with one chop after another, keeping his victim occupied as his comrades moved to flank Hae-jin from either side and finish him.

Out in the town of Elmstead, the Fox was running furiously along the streets with his nose barely grazing the surface of the cobbles, following a scent.

Keeping up with Tom had been troublesome of late, and there were a few times when the lad actually did manage to give Bartholomew the slip. Even now, Bartholomew was still one step behind the boy, but the scent of Zard was strong, and already Bartholomew was pretty sure he knew where the trail would lead.

Sure enough, the trail led straight to the house where Hae-jin was staying. Bartholomew was racing for the door when suddenly there was a noise like distant thunder, followed by total silence as the scent of foul magic filled the Fox’s nostrils. The door to the house was open, and Bartholomew leaped over the threshold in one bound and galloped into the main room. There before him he saw four Zard, three of whom were now closing in on Hae-jin, who was pinned in a corner.

There was no time now for subtlety. On a sudden inspiration the Fox took a deep breath, and inflated his lungs to an unnatural capacity. As he did so he suddenly began to grow, his fur, whiskers and paws disappearing as they were replaced by human limbs and hands. In an instant Bartholomew had completely transformed his shape into that of a human, an exact duplicate of Hae-jin in fact. The transformation was barely complete as Bartholomew charged forward, grabbing a broomstick as he did so, which itself transformed into a slender two handed saber of peculiarly Zhongish appearance. In the weird silence of the room the Zard heard not a sound as they were charged from behind, and in an instant Bartholomew had hacked down one of the Zard which was attempting to flank Hae-jin. He then struck down a second Zard, who died with his blade still buried in the wood of Hae-jin’s stool, hardly having time to realize what was happening before the conjured blade stole his life. The last remaining Zard had been trying to flank Hae-jin from the other side, but now hesitated for a fatal moment of confusion as he stared at the duplicate humans in front of him. In an instant Hae-jin cast the last shambles of his stool into the Zard and rushed in with his dagger, stabbing the creature until it was dead.

Suddenly there was pop and a rush of air, and Hae-jin wheeled around, finally able to hear again.

On one end of the room, the Bird was standing on the body of another dead Zard, one claw still buried in the reptile’s throat. Two more dead Zard lay on the floor in middle of the room. And sitting primly beside the bodies was the Fox, with two tails swishing idly just above the floor, trying to avoid being soiled by the pools of blood which were now scattered here and there.

Ever since their first meeting the Fox’s behavior had always been extraordinary, exhibiting an unparalleled degree of resourcefulness. Yet up to now, Hae-jin had never once suspected anything near the truth. Yet everything fell into place, now that Hae-jin had a moment to reflect in the light of the revelation. He recollected in particular his experience in the Drixi castle and the way the Drixi officers had been thrown into confusion by the preposterous lies of the Fox. From his uncanny manipulation of the Drixi to the mysterious way in which the Fox managed to get about from place to place, it all added up.

Of course, the first person to speak was the Bird

“Good heavens! What on earth is all of this!”

The Fox licked himself casually.

“An assassination, that’s what. Or rather, an attempted assassination. One which I have foiled.”

“That’s not what I mean! For goodness sake, you’ve got two tails!”

Hae-jin now spoke.

“The Fox is a Kumiho.”

“A what?”, asked the Bird incredulously.

“Bartholomew is a fox imp. In Hancheon we call such creatures Kumiho.”

“I prefer the term Kitsune, you please”, Bartholomew demurred, “that is the name which my family has always employed privately.”

“But why didn’t you tell us this before!” The Bird exclaimed.

“You never asked”, replied the Fox. “Besides, I hardly think it’s any of your business anyway.”

Hae-jin nodded.

“Of course, you were under no obligation to reveal this to us. However, now that we know, I think we will do well to respect Bartholomew’s privacy and keep this information in confidence.”

“Indeed”, murmured the Bird, “this will prove very useful indeed. I’ve seen Bartholomew’s talents before, especially in dealing with crowds. Now that I understand their true nature I can see all sorts of possibilities.”

“We are deeply indebted to the Fox already. Indeed, the very fact that we are alive right now is due to Bartholomew. You came at a most opportune moment.”

The Fox tilted his head nonchalantly.

“Zard smell terrible, and as soon as I smelled one I knew there was trouble.”

“I wonder how they got into the village?”

The Fox met Hae-jin’s eye. Bartholomew was pretty sure that he knew exactly how the Zard got into the village. Young Tom Oates was proving to be a most disobedient servant. Later on, he would definitely be having a serious chat with boy. A very serious chat indeed.

However, that was something Bartholomew would deal with later. The Fox cocked a suitably oblivious eye at Hae-jin and replied.

“I cannot fathom how it could have possibly happened.”

There was no further incident that night. Gurth’s assassins had come, and they did not return to their master. Word of the attempted murder spread quickly through the town the following morning, and the atmosphere in Robin Goodfellow’s army was tense as Hae-jin and the earl’s awaited the arrival of the Bishop’s heralds from Larchester bringing word of his decision. And when at long last the heralds arrived, the communication they brought was met with no small amount of consternation.

The Bishop had agreed to an audience, but not with the earls. Rather, the Bishop insisted upon meeting with Robin Goodfellow, and him only.

“Damned insulting I call it. Who does the Bishop think he is, anyway?”

Wickhowe was more circumspect in his response, although the look on his face betrayed his annoyance.

“The Bishop’s acquiescence is progress, at least. It is imperative that we accept immediately.”

“Not so hasty, Wickhowe. What if it’s a trap or something?”

The leading earls were gathered in the town hall with Hae-jin and his officers to discuss the Bishop’s response. Now a disquieted murmur fell over the assembly at these words of Swinstoke.

“The fellow’s right, you know”, reflected Alwog. “This Bishop chap has proven to be a slippery customer thus far. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw his earlship here. Not for a thousand silver marks!”

“A thousand and one silver marks!”

“The point is well taken”, said Wickhowe, attempting to regain control of the discussion, “It may well be unwise for our friend Greyflower to accept the Bishop’s offer at present. I will concede that. But it is imperative that we give the Bishop some sort of response right away. Perhaps the Bishop would agree to an audience with a proxy?”

The young Earl of Donnock now arose.

“If it would please the assembly, I volunteer myself to go in Robin Greyflower’s stead.”

“I don’t believe that will be necessary, my lord”, said Wickhowe, throwing a wary eye at the young earl , “the Bishop has already declined to meet with us many times. If he would meet with Robin Greyflower rather than ourselves, then I perhaps someone from among Robin Greyflower’s own officers would be an acceptable substitute?”

“What!” blurted Swinstoke, “are you suggesting we send a load of ugly hobgoblins to the Bishop’s palace?”

“Hoy! Hae-jin, if my brothers and I have to put up with this sort of abuse then I’m raising our fee to a hundred silver marks a day!”

“A hundred and one!”

“Shutup!...no, come to think of it, I think you may be right this time...almost.”

From the area around everybody’s waistlines there came a scoff and a disgusted growl, and the sonorous voice of Ursilda broke the air.

“Brambles and balderdash!”, the Bear barked, “Enough with this drivel. Send the woman instead. She’s one of the Bishop’s own, after all.”

All eyes now turned to Joan.

“It is true”, said Joan, “I do indeed belong to the village of Tresham, which is a possession of the Bishop. I met him once, many years ago when he was touring the estate, at which time I was presented to him with the village elders in my capacity as midwife.”

Wickhowe mused thoughtfully.

“You know, I think it might work. Yes, the Bishop may indeed be willing to meet with the woman. It’s worth asking, at any rate. We should dispatch heralds to Larchester immediately with our response, and beg the Bishop accept.”

There was a bit more arguing and hand wringing, but in the end opinion overwhelmingly favored dispatching Joan as the emissary of Robin Goodfellow. Hae-jin alone objected strongly with the decision, but Joan herself was adamant in her acceptance, and finally even Hae-jin was forced to relent. Heralds were again hastily dispatched to the city, and by noon they had returned. The Bishop had agreed, and would grant an audience to Joan Greyflower.

It was now long past sunset, and Hae-jin was anxiously pacing the main room of his residence, which had long since been cleared away of deceased Zard. Joan had departed shortly after noon in the company of three heralds, one from each of the earls. How long it might be before he received any word from Larchester he couldn’t possibly guess. But being forced to wait was maddening.

Suddenly, there was a hammering at the door. From outside, Hae-jin could hear the frightened squawks of a very agitated Bird.

Hae-jin ran to the front door and flung it open. A wicked breeze cut through his clothing as he beheld the Bird.

“Hae-jin! You must come quickly! There is dreadful, dreadful news!”

“What happened! Tell me, what happened!”

“It’s Joan, Hae-jin! The herald’s just came back from Larchester. Hae-jin, the Bishop has arrested Joan!”